


Notebook

by stay_scolder



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Drama, Drinking, M/M, Smoking, Songfic, and there's no porn either, but sometimes interesting and aesthetic, there is no plot here, this is something completely meaningless
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-19
Updated: 2020-06-24
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:48:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24807247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stay_scolder/pseuds/stay_scolder
Summary: This story has no beginning or end. One solid mid-range conflicts without development, without climax, and solution. Everyone is going somewhere, but go figure out where exactly.This is just another story, but at its most uncertain stage.
Relationships: Elijah Kamski/Leo Manfred, Gavin Reed/RK900 Android(s)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 3





	1. Piano Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The detective and the android enter a bar one day...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Piano Man by Billy Joel

“Hey, John!”

Gavin pushed open the door and walked over to the bar with his head held high. The customers followed him with interested glances.

“Give me the damn drinks,“ Reed slapped a folded bill on the bar. “Don’t give that shit. Pour something normal.”

“What the hell is this?” John, the barman, leaned against the counter behind him, crossed his arms and gave the detective a quizzical look. “Is there a reason to pour you something good?”

“Of course, hey!” Gavin smiled and lowered his head in embarrassment. “I finally fucking closed the case, and if that’s not a fucking reason for you to pour me your best whiskey, then I don’t even know what it could be.”

John narrowed his eyes and looked skeptical at Reed. Gavin was a good cop, it’s a well-known fact, but you look at him — a fool of fools, winding snot around his fist, poking at the walls, can’t tell the difference between a phone and an iron. However, at the current point of technological development, no one could do this.

“Closed it, huh?” John asked.

“You can’t hear me or what?” Reed leaned forward, looking into his friend’s eyes.

“I can hear you,” the barman said, “but do I believe you? Well, it’s another question.”

“Are you serious..?” Gavin’s head snapped back. “I’m paying you my fucking money and still have to prove I’m worthy of a good drink, not this shit you pour for everyone?”

“Hey, John,” an indignant male voice came from the dark corner of the bar, “give our guy a proper drink already! Didn’t he deserve it? After all, you owe him…”

John grimaced and glared at the dark corner, but didn’t argue. Two against one isn’t fair. But so be it, he would pour Gavin the best whiskey. As an exception. And only today, as the hero of this day.

“What do I owe him?“ the barman muttered. “I don’t remember owing him anything…”

Reed just grinned.

“Thank you, Paul,” he saluted in the dark corner.

“At your service, mate,” the black man, hidden in the darkness, pulled his cap down over his eyes and smiled.

“Surely.” Gavin chuckled and turned to the bar, where a glass of whiskey was waiting for him. Reed nodded, but decided not to say thank you. Instead, he pushed the bill in John’s direction with his fingers.

The barman was about to reach for the money when a low voice cut him off. A man’s voice again, but not Paul’s. It was someone at the other end of the bar, wearing an old-fashioned, narrow-brimmed hat and a dusty black coat, with obvious signs of a cat.

“Hey, John, friend,” he spoke calmly, and his voice was husky and full of charm, “are you going to take money from our detective?”

“I’ll take,” the bartender said confidently.

“It’s not Christian, friend,” the man shook his head. “Didn’t our detective do a good job today? Isn’t he a hero? Doesn’t he deserve a glass or two of whiskey for free?”

“Listen, Dave,” John leaned against the bar, “I’m trying to run my business here. If I wanted to pour it for free, I’d be standing by the flophouse with a pot of soup. But it’s not a flophouse and I don’t have a pot of soup, so…”

John tried to take the money, but was stopped. Again.

“No, no, no, friend,” Dave said. “Give our detective his money back. If you’re not going to give him a free drink, I’ll pay for it.”

“No fucking way,” Reed snorted. “The offer is tempting, of course, but I’d rather not.”

“Why is that?” the man raised an eyebrow.

“I wasn’t born yesterday, Dave,” Reed leaned against the bar and rested his chin on his hand, “and I didn’t grow up to be a complete fool. I know if a Jew buys you a drink, it’s for a reason. So he wants something from you. Say it ain’t so.”

“Why do you immediately think I need something from ya?” Dave said indignantly, spreading his hands, “what makes you think I need something, Gav, my friend? I just want to do what I think is right. Buy you a drink is right.”

“Now you’re buying me a drink, and then you’re asking me to turn a blind eye to your relatives’ illegal activities, right?” Gavin waved a hand.

“Wrong,” Dave shook his head. He was completely lying, but because of his natural charm and that ingratiating note in his voice, his words sounded like the truth. “I don’t even have any relatives.”

“So this is about your illegal activities?” Reed gave the man a meaningful look.

Dave gasped and clutched his heart. “What illegal activity? Why are you hurting me, Gav, my friend? Don’t you believe I want to buy you a drink as a gesture of goodwill, completely unselfish?”

Reed laughed.

Everyone knew that Dave was a fence and sold valuable trinkets. Everyone also knew it was illegal. But whether out of respect or politeness, this interesting fact was ignored. After all, gold chains and diamond rings are not Kalashnikovs and grenades. It couldn’t hit anyone, except their wallet. In the current economy, selling it, especially legally, was unprofitable, but selling it by stealth is a good business idea. Gavin should have cared, but he didn’t. Besides, sometimes Dave was damn useful when it came to the black market.

“I don’t believe,” Reed said honestly. Of course, he wanted truly believe that since he and Dave were old friends, there was at least some semblance of trust between them. If so, he could afford to believe in the sincerity of his impulses and their unselfishness. Except it was a trap. Jews… they were never to be trusted, even if they seemed to be. They are liars. Betrayal is in their genes.

“I swear to you, my friend,” Dave lowered his voice, pressed a hand to his chest, and looked into Gavin’s eyes, “I give you my word. Here’s a cross for you, if you want.”

He crossed himself, which only made Gavin smile ironically. John laughed nervously. Unlike the detective, he was a religious man, even if he didn’t live like a Christian. But religion and faith are different things. It was possible to believe in the concept of the existence of a higher divine power and comfort yourself with it in difficult times without going to Church on Sundays. Although he considered himself a Catholic, he did not dislike Jews, but he felt a certain tension when Dave crossed himself in front of him and in order not to aggravate the situation with either his reaction or sarcastic remarks, he began to nervously wipe the wineglasses.

“It was unnecessary, I don’t even…”

Gavin didn’t finish. He was interrupted by the door opening with a creak, and his sentence no longer needed a logical conclusion, because everyone immediately fixed their eyes on the newcomer. Everyone except Reed.

The bar, which was already quiet, was completely silent. People seem to have stopped breathing. Gavin had his back to the door and couldn’t see who had come in, but based on everyone’s reactions, there were two possibilities: either the second coming of Christ had happened unscheduled, or Gavin’s sober driver had decided to reveal himself.

“You weren’t in a hurry, were you?” the detective rubbed his aching eyes wearily. Whether it is Jesus or the Lord himself, this phrase is appropriate in any case.

“Good evening.” The soft velvety voice rolled around the room in a pleasant enveloping wave.

John grimaced. He had nothing against drunks and rowdies, Jews and blacks, but he didn’t want to see androids here. This was clearly indicated by the warning sign on the door, which was apparently ignored.

There was tension in the air. No one was happy about the android’s appearance. They didn’t like him. No, all androids were disliked here after that incident. And people did not even care that these android came in peace, because their good has already shown clearly that it is with fists. If one day your vacuum cleaner gives you a good electric shock, you will treat it with more caution, aren’t you?

In deathly silence, under the heavy gazes of those present, the android made his way from the front door to the bar and stopped a few steps away from Reed. The detective didn’t even turn around. He nervously drank a glass of whiskey and motioned for John to repeat it. Gavin could feel the hostility of the customers on his skin. They stared wolfishly at the android, their eyes glowing like coals in the gloom. It seemed that if android made even one sudden move, they would immediately pounce on him and tear apart.

Gavin understood perfectly, these people sincerely hoped that he would throw his plastic companion out the door. They didn’t want to see him here, but they couldn’t do anything about it. This model — RK900 — had unique rights. And the customers simply had no right to prohibit this thing from being here as a part of the justice system. Besides, the android was technically Reed’s companion, so his presence here was justified.

Probably in any other situation, these guys would have attacked the android no matter what, but now the presence of Gavin, who was respected here, stopped them. No one was going to fight the machine in front of him. It could be dangerous.

Gavin could resolve this situation, but he wasn’t going to. The majority opinion did not allow him to defend the android. This meant going against the miniature model of society that the bar’s customers represented at the moment. He would have to resist the opinion of his fellow friends, lose their trust and sympathy.

He couldn’t ask RK900 to wait outside, either. He could be rude, say shit, or shoot him in the face, and he didn’t care if the android liked him or not. He refusing to go along with the majority opinion not because he was afraid for his relationship with this machine. He was afraid of losing face in front of his plastic friend, because it would be obvious what exactly dictated his decision. For a man who had spent years trying to pretend that he didn’t care what other people thought of him, even though he was dependent on their opinions, to show it openly was a blow to his pride. He could hardly bear the gleam of mockery in the blue eyes and the RK900’s meaningful silence.

And Gavin did what real men do in this situation — nothing. He decided to simply ignore the android’s presence, as if it would make the awkwardness and tension of the situation disappear. If he doesn’t notice, if he acts as if nothing has happened, then others will, too. And he drank another glass of whiskey, so as not to feel the oppressive presence of the android, which was glaring at the detective with a cold stare.

“How’s your ex-wife, John?” Gavin pushed the empty glass toward the barman.

“She’s alive,” he answered shortly.

“It’s fucking annoying,” Reed said, crawling over the bar. His cold fingers felt the hot skin of his cheeks. Whether it was the drink or the shame, he didn’t know. He preferred to blame it all on the whiskey, although he knew perfectly well that the alcohol could not have taken effect so quickly.

Gavin was sober, and it was fucking annoying.

“It’s been quiet here lately,” the detective glanced around the room, quickly counting the people on their heads. There were half as many of them as usual, which was depressing as hell. The news repeated as a mantra that the crisis was over, but it felt as if they were only sinking deeper into it. People were disappearing. Perhaps they were leaving Detroit in search of a better life. They ran the same way they did half a century ago. Did the city again expect desolation and destruction?

“When people start whiling away their days drinking in a bar, it means bad times have come,” John said wisely, he knew something about it, “and as soon as they suddenly stop, something fucking worse is coming.”

A heavy sigh escaped the customers’ lips in unison. It was a silent agreement. Times are changing again, history is going into a second round and threatens to repeat its previous maneuver. Everyone felt it, but they didn’t say it out loud. They were afraid that if they did, it would probably happen.

The android, taking advantage of the fact that no one was looking at him, climbed onto the bar stool. Gavin didn’t say anything, didn’t even glance at him. However, RK900 is already used to playing the role of a nightstand. He accepted he was only there when Reed needed him to be. It suited them both. When they existed in different universes’, each on its own, they had less cause for conflict.

Gavin was silent for a long time, twirling the glass in his hands, staring blankly at his own muddy reflection in the splashing liquid, and he was so disgusted. As if he wasn’t the winner today. The atmosphere of gloom and doom, that reigned in this bar, oppressed him.

“It’s killing me,” he said quietly.

His soul was pounding like a wounded bird in his chest, and demanded desperately to either scream or sing. Hard and loud, a little drunk, not hearing yourself, confusing and gasping, barely pronouncing the words, but along with everyone. Just like in old times. In better times.

John looked at the detective in mild perplexity, waiting for an explanation, but the detective didn’t notice. He was looking around for someone.

“Where the fuck is Bill?” Gavin exclaimed, obviously not finding what he was looking for.

“Bill?” John raised an eyebrow. “Have no idea. He hasn’t been here in a while.”

“And I wonder why it’s so fucking quiet here… Without his…” Reed tapped his fingers on the tabletop, miming playing the piano, “fucking strumming.”

“And thank God,” John’s eyes widened meaningfully. “His strumming was driving me nuts. Are we at the Philharmonic or where?”

Gavin shook his head vaguely.

“No matter,” the barman waved a hand, “he still played very mediocre.”

It was hard to disagree with that.

Bill was a skinny, awkward guy, always on his own. He didn’t drink much, just had a drink or two for the sake of convention, and then immediately sat down at the old, almost collapsed piano in the corner, which had stood there since the days when this bar was a quite decent entertainment place.

Bill didn’t know how to play very well, he didn’t graduate from academies, but he was so dedicated to music that no one could ask him to shut the fuck up. And every week from Friday to Sunday, he sat down at the piano and played around his meager repertoire of almost ten songs, of which he performed only two well.

Bill couldn’t sing either, but he loved it. His voice was off-key, but heartfelt. Fortunately, the audience was not musical. They sang just as abominable, but after drinking a lot, they were happy to sing along, heartfelt and out of tune.

Gavin didn’t really know Bill, hadn’t even spoken to him once, but he was acutely aware of the lack of him. It had become so much a habit for him to drink to the same songs in a bad performance that he did not feel complete without it. The silence was empty, and it was all too obvious that the city was slowly dying out. It was impossible to bear. Alcohol did not help, on the contrary, it aggravated the shortage of people.

Gavin sighed heavily and drained his glass. He was beginning to gasp in the oppressive silence. It exposed all the things that he wanted to escape from: the real situation, the emptiness, his own thoughts.

Reed looked at John, and was about to say something when something flashed in his green eyes. He changed his mind and turned to the android.

“Hey, Richie,” Gavin said it matter-of-factly, and it sounded like “so where were we?”, as if he hadn’t ignored the android’s existence until just now.

“Wrong,” the android shook his head.

“Dick,” the detective said, lowering his voice.

“Try again,” almost sang RK900, enthusiastically brushing invisible crumbs from the counter with his fingers.

Gavin frowned. His drunken brain couldn’t figure out what he was doing wrong. He suspected that he had confused the androids. Or their names.

“Nines,” he breathed out, choosing a win-win option.

“Accept,” the android agreed reluctantly.

“You’re a jack of all trades, right?” Gavin leaned in confidentially to his companion.

RK900 frowned in puzzlement.

“Maybe,” he said hesitantly.

“So you can fuckin’ play the pinano?” the question sounded more like a statement, and his slurred speech showed a slight degree of intoxication.

“Never try,” honestly admitted the android.

“But you can, right?” Gavin held up his hand, pointing at Nines. He did not see any contradictions in his words.

“Most likely,” the android agreed.

“Then play for us…”

Gavin raised his eyebrows meaningfully. John frowned in disapproval.

“Play?” Nines asked, and took a long look over his shoulder at the piano in the corner. “This instrument?”

“Yeah,” Reed said confidently, in a tone that brooked no argument.

The android thought for a few brief moments. He clearly didn’t think it was a good idea, and he quickly went over the pros and cons.

“What should I play?”

Gavin and John looked at each other and answered in unison: “Piano Man.”

RK900 wanted to clarify what piano man it was about, but he was an advanced model created to not clarify.

“Okay.”

He paused for a moment and slid gracefully off the bar stool. The way to the piano was made by him under the interested look of customers. There was no longer the old hostility in them, only curiosity and a certain amount of wariness. Nines stopped at the piano and tentatively touched the keys. He was afraid to touch the instrument, it seemed as it could fall apart even with a breath of wind. The android pressed lightly on the keys, and the piano echoed it with false notes that cut the ear.

“It’s not in the mood, detective,” RK900 recoiled.

“So cheer it up, you idiot!” Gavin shouted.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” the android shook his head and began to back away, “nothing good will come of it.”

“Fuck, Richie, do something useful for once…” the detective breathed out in exasperation.

“Excuse me?” the android asked tensely, clearly offended that all his previous achievements had been ignored.

“Just fuckin’ play, ‘kay?”

Nines let out an annoyed sigh, pursing his lips.

“As you wish,” he growled sarcastically, but not loud enough to be heard, picked up the nearest chair and sat down at the instrument.

Again the deathly silence. Everyone froze and seemed to stop breathing. They were watching Nines, and he felt like a pianist on stage. It was his debut, very exciting, but he knew well that he would perform his program perfectly. It is not in his nature to make mistakes.

He squared his shoulders. His hands hovered over the keys for a brief moment. Gavin took a breath, but didn’t let it out. The first three notes were enough to fill the aching void. Everything fell into place again, and the dark bar seemed to become even brighter.

“It’s nine o'clock on a Saturday,” Richard began softly, but with confidence “the regular crowd shuffles in…”

The bar lit up as if someone had flipped a switch. The cold light of the lamps turned a warm yellow.

Gavin shivered all over, as if someone had gently blown on the back of his head. A shiver ran down his spine. It was the first time he had heard RK900 sing, and his voice, already familiar and velvety, now sounded particularly pleasant. It touched his skin softly, enveloped him like silk, and filling his chest with a pleasant sensation that vibrated like a purring cat’s belly.

Gavin’s head spun and he would have liked to say it was the alcohol that had gone to his head, but he would have lied.

“Fu-u-uck,” it was all Reed could say, because there were no other words to describe what was happening.


	2. Even If We Try

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elijah comes to see Leo in rehab

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Even If We Try by Night Beds

Leo noticed him from a distance. As soon as a shadow passed through the glass doors of the building, he knew — Elijah was there.  
Kamski pushed open the door, put his coat collar back on, and moved forward, wincing in the chilly wind.  
Leo devoured Elijah's figure with his eyes. His perfectly black coat was the only contrast against the endless grayness of the place: withered grass, bare trees, dusty paved paths, and dirty, inconspicuous walls of the building, closing in a stone fence behind. It was so high that only the sky was visible behind it, and the sky, like everything else here, was gloomy and gray.  
Elijah stopped at a bench, blocking the view of the bleak courtyard. Instead of ‘hello’, his lips twitched slightly, trying for a moment to curl into a forced, polite smile.  
Leo lowered his head. He avoided looking at Kamski up close, and didn't particularly want to show him the results of being here. The emaciated, sallow face, the circles under his eyes, and the dead look were the result of hard days in his life. He was ashamed to show himself like this in front of Elijah, who seemed to have never had such days.  
“How are you?” Kamski asked in a deep, low voice, frowning.  
“Hard,” Leo breathed out. He had no reason to lie.  
Elijah nodded. He knew it wasn't going to be easy, but he didn't prepare any words of support anyway.  
There was an oppressive silence. They hadn't seen each other for only a few weeks, but now those weeks were like years of separation, which stood between them as a wall of silence and alienation. With each new meeting, they had fewer themes and words. They no longer knew what to say to each other.  
“Do you have a cigarette?” Leo tried to look up, but the cloudy sky cut his eyes with its light, just as Elijah's silent presence cut his soul. Manfred immediately looked down.  
“It seems like smoking is forbidden here,” said Kamski.  
Leo just snorted. Prohibitions have never stopped anyone before. Drugs were also banned, but they were still brought here. Ex-addicts are only dead addicts, what can you say?  
“You're Elijah Kamski, who's going to forbid you anything?”  
Leo made another attempt to look up, but failed again.  
Elijah sighed, frowning looked around and put his hand in his coat pocket. A moment later, a pack of cigarettes was tossed carelessly into Leo's lap, followed by a lighter.  
“Isn't that too cheeky?” Kamski asked calmly, but there was a note of reproach in his voice.  
Leo froze, the cigarette halfway to his lips.  
“Here, you know, it's like a children's camp,” he grinned, thoughtfully swinging his cigarette, “at night, they smoke in the windows, during the day they hide in the bushes. You can smoke here. You just can't get caught, you know?”  
“So, can you at least walk around the corner for decency's sake?” Elijah raised an eyebrow, questioning and haughty.  
“Why?” Leo asked quietly. “I can piss on their faces, they won't do anything to me while you're here.”  
“And then?”  
“What then?” the cigarette bounced up and down between his lips. “Does it matter?”  
A lighter flickered. Leo breathed in the smoke with difficulty, and it rubbed across his throat like sandpaper, leaving a bitter taste on his tongue and a sweet taste of chocolate on his lips. The cigarette smoked heavily.  
“Heavy and expensive,” Leo said, looking at the pack. “Just like you.”  
Elijah ignored this. For too long he had listened to the younger Manfred selectively.  
Leo took only a few puffs. He had not smoked for a long time, so he confused the quickening heartbeat with pleasure. It was like a happy anticipation and a pleasant excitement. He felt alive for the first time.  
“Can I keep it?” Leo waved the pack. “It's really hard here without them.”  
Elijah reached into his coat pocket and turned away. You could tell by the curve of his mouth that he wasn't happy. The longer he stared at the gray wall of the building, the more tense the silence became.  
“Does therapy help you?”  
Leo coughed. He hoped that if he coughed up his lungs now, he wouldn't need to say anything.  
“Answer the question,” Elijah asked imperiously.  
“No,” Leo said with disdain.  
“‘No’ because you need a different approach or ‘no’ because you don't want to make an effort?”  
“‘No’ because it's bullshit,” Leo looked at Kamski with anger.  
The corners of Elijah's mouth twitched. He was clearly displeased with this response.  
“So you just don't want to make the effort,” he stated in a monotone voice.  
The phrase hit Leo in the stomach. He gasped with indignation.  
“This,” he pointed the cigarette between his fingers at the building, “is complete bullshit, Elijah. I've had enough of their ‘tell me what you don't want to tell’ therapies. I'm tired of their stifling revelations and snot-chewing. We are all unhappy, each in his own way, how fucking unexpected it is!”  
Leo threw up his hands.  
“Did you tell them?” Elijah turned his blue eyes to Manfred. “Did you tell them anything at all?”  
“No! Of course not, damn it.”  
“It won't work if you don't start talking.”  
“Fuck it!” Leo shouted. “I'm not going to participate in this group rape. I won't complain that my father doesn't need me. Especially about...”  
The voice trembled treacherously. Manfred turned away.  
“Leo,” Elijah called softly.  
“It's the smoke...”  
Kamski looked down and crossed his arms. He didn't know what to do when Leo's eyes suddenly started to water from the smoke, the wind, or unpleasant memories.  
“I don't want to talk about it, I don't want to write about it. I don't even want to think about it. They want to dig into themselves, so they can get a shovel in their hands. I just want to stop thinking about it. This is not a sad story to make everyone cry and say a compassionate ‘oooh’. It is mine. Personal. And I want it to stay that way.”  
Elijah looked down at the toes of his shoes thoughtfully. His lips twitched. He wrapped his coat around him and sat down on the bench. Leo moved away instinctively.  
“You told me about it,” Kamski breathed out softly and very delicately.  
“Now I regret,” Leo growled back, rolling the cigarette between his fingers.  
He was silent for a long time. Elijah didn't say anything either. He just stared up at the gray sky, which made his blue eyes look muddy and clouded.  
“If you think that makes me feel better,” Leo's voice was hoarse, “you're wrong. And telling more people about it is not going to make it any easier for me either.”  
Elijah winced.  
“They are right about one thing,” Manfred waved a hand. “I'm running. We—” he glanced at the building, correcting himself, “are running. And locking us in here alone with ourselves with no alternative to drugs is the worst idea.”  
“One on one with your problems,” Elijah brushed invisible dust from his perfectly black coat, “you can't run forever. You can't run away from yourself.”  
Leo turned his head and stared at Kamski for a long moment. There was no emotion in his glassy eyes.  
“It's not me, Elijah,” he said hoarsely after a long pause. “What happened is not me.”  
“It's part of you.”  
“The part I want to forget about,” Leo breathed in the cigarette smoke and jumped nervously on the bench, trying to sit more comfortably. “There are things that can't be coped with group therapy, long walks in the fresh air, and unpleasant routines. There are problems that can't be solved, you can only run away from them... and we were denied this opportunity.”  
“You were forced to make an effort to overcome difficulties,” Kamski added a clarification  
Leo hissed in annoyance.  
“You can't refuse something without finding an alternative,” he breathed in the smoke with a whistle. “Even if we try to make ourselves all right, even if we break this vicious circle... as long as the addiction is in our heads, we are in danger. We cannot get rid of it by isolation, because obsessive thoughts do not come from outside.”  
He paused for a brief moment and looked up, as if there was something in the sky that distracted him.  
“I just want to get high.”  
Elijah visibly tensed.  
“Every fucking day, all I think about is how much I want to get high,” Leo hastily breathed in the smoke, stubbed out the cigarette and throwing it into the shrubs. “I think if I get out of here—” he cleared his throat, “as soon as I get out of here, I will—”  
Manfred paused thoughtfully. There were things he shouldn't have said in front of Elijah.  
“Prohibitions don't work,” Leo said. “We need alternatives.”  
“What alternatives?” Elijah's voice was tense and displeased.  
Leo shrugged his shoulders.  
“More diverse activities? Something distracting? Maybe a phone or laptop—”  
“That's out of the question,” Elijah cut him off.  
“At least a TV,” Manfred asked in a whining, childish voice. “You know, the morgue is more fun place than this...”  
Elijah Kamski narrowed his eyes, put his hands in the pockets of his coat, and pursed his lips in displeasure.  
“That's where you'll end up if you continue…”  
Leo scratched his dry lips with a fingernail and glared at Elijah.  
He promised not to devalue other people's problems so obviously, but whatever it was, there was indifference in his words, in his look, in his expression, and even in his presence. It may have been rude, but Leo's problems are just Leo's problems. Kamski was willing to help with them, but he didn't exactly sign up to solve them.  
“I want to go home,” Leo's voice was quiet and hesitant.  
Elijah seemed to become uncomfortable. He sighed heavily, fixed his coat, and crossed his legs.  
“We agreed that you would stay here for three months,” his voice was cold.  
“We didn't agree about ‘here’,” Leo snapped.  
“Really?”  
The look in his blue eyes hurt Manfred. His voice, usually soft and calm, but now quivering with tension, sounding a tone higher and more resonant, was full of contempt.  
“You absolutely have no willpower,” Kamski said, looking away.  
“It's not true,” Leo whispered. He knew Elijah was right, and it made him angry. He had never been able to resist temptation, but like any human being, he was sure that if he needed it badly, he could control himself and overcome it. Just not right now. He was not ready now, and he knew very well that he never would be. Fighting with yourself, suffering for the good — a hard path you need to go through with your teeth clenched. There wouldn't be a good time for him to do it, they both knew that.  
“I remember,” Elijah's voice became dangerously calm and relaxed, “after the hospital, you swore you were done with drugs forever, but here we are...”  
“That—” Leo grimaced irritably and nervously. “That was just an episode...”  
“How many such episodes were? How many more will be?”  
“It was—” Manfred breathed out heavily, knowing that he couldn't finish the sentence without lying. “It won't happen again.”  
Elijah turned his head and stared at Leo for a long moment. It was impossible to bear the heavy, burning gaze. Leo lowered his head guiltily, gritted his teeth, and shrank to the size of a pumpkin seed, hoping he could just disappear.  
“You know I don't believe you,” Elijah said softly. “I wish I could, but I can't.”  
“This time—” Leo's voice faltered and broke into a hoarse rasp. “This time it will be different.”  
“You start repeating yourself...”  
Leo pursed his lips painfully. Sometimes just faith is not enough. He would like to keep at least one of his words. But all the promises at once lose their meaning when you really want to get high.  
“«This time,” Leo licked his lips nervously, “it will be different. I swear. It won't happen again...”  
“Good, if that's true,” Elijah said under his breath, fixing his coat.  
He turned and gave Manfred a strange look. A thoughtful, maybe doubtful.  
“This is the last chance, Leo,” Kamski's voice was barely heard in the wind, “there will be no others. I can't help someone who doesn't want help. I'm not going to pull you out of this swamp by your ears anymore. You've had too many attempts already. This is the last one. If you can't handle it—”  
Elijah turned away, exhaling heavily. He made it clear that if Leo betrayed his trust again, their paths would separate. Elijah forgave Manfred too much. More than anyone else. Even his brother was not so honored.  
Leo closed his eyes and breathed out. He opened his mouth to say ‘I promise’, but didn't have time. The phone in Elijah's coat pocket vibrated insistently, alerting him to an incoming call. And that call was a hundred and a thousand times more important than anything Leo had to say.  
Elijah didn't bother answering the phone quickly. Lazily, he took his phone out of his pocket, stared at the screen for a long time, then finally accepted the call, threw a short ‘I'm coming’ and immediately disconnected. Leo thought with annoyance that for all his philosophical slowness, Kamski did not like to waste his time. He never spent a second more than was necessary. So there's a question: how much time was he willing to give Leo today?  
“I have to go.”  
Even less than usual. Leo clicked his tongue. He shouldn't have set high expectations for these meetings. They became forced.  
For too long Leo has been too uncomfortable with his addiction. But Elijah was still here. It should have been gratifying to Leo that a man who refused everything burdensome without regret was still with him for some reason, but it was not gratifying at all. He felt like a burden, and he was beginning to think about breaking this relationship with Elijah, even if it was the only thing that kept him on the line.  
Kamski stood up. He was not going to choose the right words and prolong the good-bye indefinitely. This is not their last meeting.  
“Are you coming next week?” Leo asked casually.  
Elijah took a deep breath. He hoped he could avoid this question.  
“I'll be out of town.”  
Elijah's gaze moved across the bleak, bare courtyard. Manfred sighed.  
“These are important meetings, Leo,” Kamski said with pressure.  
“I know, I know,” the young man mumbled. “I'm not three years old. I understand that meeting with me has never been important enough for you...”  
“We can reschedule,” Elijah said as gently as he could. “You're not going anywhere...”  
“I'm not going anywhere,” Leo agreed, but at that moment he desperately wanted to hang himself on his own sheet, only for Elijah's words to become fatal.  
Elijah's lips tightened, and his face looked sharpened.  
“Thursday,” he broke the long silence. “Evening. I'll come to you for a while.”  
Leo pursed his lips to hide a faint smile.  
“Bring something for you?” Elijah reached up, pulled back the sleeve of his coat, and glanced at the dial of his watch.  
“Cigarettes.”  
Elijah gave him a disapproving look.  
“And laptop.”  
“Leo,” Elijah said imperiously. Obviously this was synonymous with a categorical no.  
“At least a book,” Leo said with a despair.  
“Okay,” Kamski nodded, “okay. I'll bring you a book.”  
He raised a hand and, with the care common to all who deal with wild animals, patted Leo's hair sentimentally. Manfred grimaced, but said nothing.  
“I have to go,” he said softly, under his breath. “See you Thursday, Leo.”  
“See you Thursday, Elijah.”  
Kamski turned and walked confidently away. It's always like this with them — neither hello nor goodbye. This makes meetings look cursory, but less burdensome.  
Leo counted to ten before looking up. Elijah was no longer in the courtyard.  
Heavy clouds were reflected in the windows and glass doors of the building.


	3. Only me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The android takes the detective home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me by Nocturnal Rites

There was one thing about Gavin Reed that few people knew about: contrary to popular belief, he was not a violent drunk. On the opposite, the more he drank, the calmer he became. His explosive temper was fading, his aggression replaced by melancholy and indifference. His green eyes become dim and tired. Even his voice was getting quieter and softer, though usually Gavin liked to speak loudly and harshly, so that any of his phrases, even the most useless ones, would be heard.  
“Hey, John,” Gavin called quietly, limping tiredly to the bar.  
His words were lost in the exhalation, mixed with a white haze of smoke and dissolved in the stale air, soaked with alcohol and sweat.  
“Do you have a cigarette?” Reid slapped his fingers on the table, drawing attention to himself. “Or you stopped poisoning yourself?”  
“No smoking here,” Nines whispered in Gavin's ear, his hand barely touching detective's back.  
“No androids here, either,” the Reed chuckled, catching a half-empty pack of cigarettes that had been tossed to him, “but here you are...”  
RK900 pursed his lips, straightened up, and took a few steps back. Early. The detective is not yet in the right condition to not be sarcastic.  
“And a fire, if you can,” Gavin leaned forward awkwardly, his ribs slamming against the countertop, but he didn't even make a sound.  
"No shit, no spoon, right, Reed?” John chuckled, grabbing a lighter from under the bar to light the detective's cigarette. “However, nothing new.”  
Gavin only grunted, exhaled smoke, took the cigarette between his teeth, put his hands on the counter, and, crouching slightly, jumped onto the counter, slapping his belly against it like a fish thrown on a chopping board.  
John didn't even change expression, he watched with a melancholy as Reed slumped against the counter, groping for an abandoned ashtray under the bar, and he was far less interested in this spectacle than in Nines walking calmly to his and the detective's table by the spattered dark window with the neon sign burning on the other side.  
This place was extremely bad. The couches were tattered more than any other, the table was shabby, the fabric always clung to its uneven corners. The closeness of the toilet, and the constant draught from the front door, which was not tightly closed, was not good either. The most disgusting place possible. But Richard loved it. He loved the view from the window with the neon sign that looked through at night he could see the dirty and unsightly gray area as if through rose-colored glasses.  
Gavin slammed the porcelain ashtray down on the table and, taking the cigarette in his other hand, sitting down on the couch with one arm draped over the back of it.  
Richard kept looking out the window, but the landscape didn't change. One year has passed, and two and all the same: pissed gray walls, the same garbage and the headlights of passing cars. A traffic light flashes, then a large advertising sign on the roof of the house goes out. The alley becomes pitch dark until the sign lights up again. Then a patrol car speeds past. Again with the flashing lights on.  
All this Richard had observed over the past hour. Nothing changed. It was a kind of looped place where a short period of time — no more than twenty minutes long — was played over and over again. It took two times to memorize the sequence, but Richard continued to watch. Through the pink glow of the neon sign, all this dirt and grayness, the ordinary and the secondary, looked like aesthetics.  
“You look like a fucking dog waiting for its owner to come home from work.”  
Gavin took a breath in the smoke and leaned forward, reaching for the ashtray with the cigarette in his hand. It was a mystery how he knew what Richard looked like if he hadn't even looked up at him since his return.  
The android turned his head to give the detective a cold, sharp, angry look. What owner is he waiting for? Better than the one he already has?  
Gavin leaned his head back, and blew a cloud of acrid smoke at the ceiling. RK900 watched it. He had about three good reasons why smoking in a closed space like this was a bad idea, but who would listen to him. People ignore the hypothetical danger of what gives them pleasure.  
“You seem to have had an e-cigarette,” the Android remembered melancholically, watching the smoke from the ceiling turn into a thin milky haze.  
“I had,” Gavin confirmed, taking a deep breath on his cigarette, then letting the smoke out again and wetting his throat with whiskey. Just a couple of puffs and the intoxication became very noticeable.  
“What happened to it?”  
“It's dead,” Reed said, “just like any electronic thing. And you will fuckin’ die,” he suddenly leaned forward and drunkenly pointed at the android with fingers holding a cigarette, “if you gonna obstruct the law.”  
"What law?” RK900 frowned slightly.  
“Me,” Reed replied. “I am the fuckin’ law, asshole. Don't stop me from having fun with your fucking boredom, okay?”  
The android nodded obediently and slid down on the couch so that he could watch the clouds of milky smoke roll up from the ceiling, colored by the faint crimson glow of the neon sign.  
So they sat in silence, as they had sat in silence for hours, days, and weeks before, ignoring each other when their interaction was not necessary. This state of things was convenient for them. Gavin didn't like it when someone intruded on his life very actively, and Richard, because of the difficulties in understanding social norms and rules, didn't always know what was appropriate and what wasn't, so he could easily overstep the bounds of what was allowed. By their silence, they saved each other from an unpleasant experience. An experience they didn't need at all.  
“Detective,” Richard looked at Reed with piercing, cold eyes.  
"What?” Gavin took a last puff and stubbed out his cigarette, grimacing in displeasure.  
“It's late,” Richard said quietly.  
"Yeah?” Gavin raised an eyebrow. “So what? Are you afraid the carriage will turn into a pumpkin?”  
“Unfortunately,” the android leaned forward, locking his hands on the stained tabletop, “I don't know how to drive a pumpkin, so I'd rather give you a ride home while it's still a car...”  
Gavin chuckled softly.  
“All right,” he nodded and held up his empty glass, “the last one and go home, deal?”  
“Deal.”  
Reed exhaled heavily and tried to get up from the couch, which he did with difficulty. His legs were wobbly, and his body refused to obey. He should have stopped, but he couldn't help having one last drink. Just as he couldn't help begging John for another cigarette, even though he had promised himself to stop at the last one.  
“I'll wait you in the car,” Richard said quietly, returning the ashtray to the bar. Gavin paused in mid-sentence, indicating that he had taken note of the information, but did not respond to it in any other way.  
The android nodded to a frowning John, fixed his uniform jacket, and went out into the night.  
The wind howled through the alleys, a police car passed again, its lights flashing. Richard watched it go.  
Gavin didn't come back for a long time. He was clearly savoring his last glass. There was no hurry, and no one was waiting for him. No one but Richard, forced to sit in the car and watch the filthy urban landscape of shitty streets through the windshield. Through the neon sign the dirt of reality wasn't so obvious.  
The car door opened. Reed struggled into the passenger seat.  
“Let's go,” he said, slamming the door with some difficulty.  
Richard waited a moment for Gavin to put on his seat belt, then drove off. They rode on in dead silence.  
Reed opened the window and slid down the seat, exposing his pale face to the whistling gusts of wind. His hand alternately gripped and stroked the door handle.  
“Tell me if you feel bad,” Richard said carefully, taking a quick look at the detective.  
Gavin pondered the phrase for a long time, turning it over in his mind as if trying to figure out what it meant. When the silence lengthened, he forced himself to mumble in agreement. But the mumbling didn't mean anything, and the silence that followed it was... disquieting?  
Richard gripped the steering wheel tightly. He didn't like it at all. Gavin was quiet. Too quiet. Like the calm before a storm. It didn't bode well.  
Then Reed's face suddenly changed, his whole body tensed, his lips pursed painfully, his knuckles clenched on the door handle, and he let out a pathetic sigh: “I feel bad.”  
Richard stopped the car suddenly. Right in the middle of the road, not caring at all that it might cause an accident. He reacted faster than he had time to think.  
Gavin arched his back, took a deep, ragged breath, and then went limp. Richard gave him a confused look. However, he was more confused because of his reaction. His hands gripped the steering wheel in a death grip.  
“Are you all right?” the android stared at the detective's pale face.  
“Drive on,” Reid said quietly, swallowing.  
“Are you—”  
“All right,” Gavin cut the android off roughly. “Go.”  
Richard gave the detective a long look, but said nothing. All he had to do was drive the detective home, and he didn't care what happened next.  
It wasn't long now. Gavin was silent, tapping his fingers on the door handle.  
“How often do you regret your decisions?” Reed asked in a melancholy voice, counting the lights along the road.  
“Never,” Richard said honestly. Regret is too complicated feeling. It's about how things could have been different if you'd made a different choice. About ‘different’ is a synonym for ‘better’. It’s not true.  
“Even when your decisions led to your death?”  
Ouch.  
Richard breathed out heavily, squaring his shoulders.  
“I don't know what my decisions caused—” he paused, searching for the right words, “fatal damage of important components.”  
He desperately avoided the word ‘death’, because the dysfunction of his external shell did not lead to the death of his living and completely independent consciousness.  
"You don't know?” Gavin raised an eyebrow.  
“I don't remember,” Richard said quietly. “According to the Cyberlife protocol, I must constantly copy myself to the cloud to avoid data loss in the case of unexpected circumstances that cause serious damage to the system. This means I can always be loaded into a new body if the old one — along with all the data — cannot be restored.”  
“So, you—”  
“A backup copy of myself who has no idea what happened. It's like... going back a few steps when you fail, but without the slightest memory of it. Knowing only as a fact that it took place.”  
Gavin stared at Richard for a long moment. He stared at him in a confused way, trying to figure out how to respond to this in his drunken mind.  
“You're lucky,” he said under his breath.  
Richard shrugged his shoulders.  
“I have avoided many existential crises. No matter how many times I have been destroyed, I still have no idea what death is or how it feels. This is good news.” He let out a dejected sigh and barely shrugged. “But all these rebirths inevitably lead to data loss. I come back, but I'm always not what I was.”  
“But it's still you,” Gavin gave Richard a tired look and turned away. “It's always only you...”  
"What is 'Me'?” Richard asked a philosophical question.  
Reed ignored him.  
“There are things that are better not to remember. You'll be safer.”  
“I know I made a mistake, but I don't know what it was. If so, I can't use this experience.”  
“You can make conclusions,” Reed said reasonably, “but you can't go back and change your decision, and you have to live with the aftereffect. What's the point?” Gavin's face twisted in pain. “There are situations that are not repeated. They happen once in a lifetime, and everything depends on what choice you make. If you make a mistake, you will not be able to fix anything. And you won't get a chance to do the right thing next time. There won't be a next time, you know? All you have is the memory of how you fucked up, and the regret. Regret that will choke you with guilt until you stop feeling anything.”  
Richard was silent. This time, as never before, he was clearly aware that their abstract conversation was too personal. They had never gone this far before.  
“It's okay to make mistakes, detective,” the android said as gently as he could. “This is one of the ways of knowing the world, which does not make any sense if our mistakes do not turn into experience. We are the consequences of our decisions, whether successful or not.”  
“You never thought that—” Gavin bit his lip, “your deaths weren't the result of a mistake?”  
Richard frowned, uncomprehending. For his straight-as-a-rail mind, anything that led him to unwanted results was a mistake.  
“Maybe... you sacrificed yourself to save someone? Is this considered as mistake?”  
“No,” Richard said shortly.  
“And if... you did the right thing, but in the end—” Reid raised his brows painfully, “your whole life still went to hell? If you've done all you can. If you did what you should have done. If you know that the result was the best,” his voice grew more bitter with each word, “but you still regret every fucking decision you made... Is this considered as mistake?”  
Gavin turned his belligerent green eyes to the RK900.  
“I don't know,” Richard said honestly. He could already see the right building in the distance.  
“I did the right thing, Richard,” Gavin breathed faintly, and his eyes dimmed, "if it was the right thing at all. I was right. I did what I had to do. I keep telling myself that. But she's dead... and there's nothing I can do about it.”  
Reed's eyes filled with a thin mist of tears.  
Richard tensed, gripped the steering wheel, and slammed the gas pedal down. He had the feeling that today he had found out something he shouldn't.  
“Everything is different from before. It will never be the same. Guess that I died with her...”  
The android slammed on the brakes pedal, stopping the car a few meters from the right doorstep.  
“We have arrived, detective,” he said too harshly.  
Gavin was silent, biting the inside of his cheeks, touching his lips with his fingers, trying to figure out what to do next. He said too much. He said something he wasn't going to say. Now he regretted it.  
“Yeah,” he said with a sniff, “yeah.”  
Richard jumped out of the car and hurried to the passenger door. He was an advanced android, but not advanced enough to deal with human grief and regret. He just didn't know what to do with it.  
“Can you walk home by yourself, detective?" he asked sympathetically as he helped Gavin out of the car.  
“I can, I'm not a fuckin’ kid,” Reed said coldly.  
The android nodded understandingly and stepped aside to let the detective pass. Gavin took a few steps, squared his shoulders, and started to reach into his pocket, then remembered that he wasn't carrying any cigarettes. This was very depressing.  
“Richard...”  
Before Gavin reached his porch, he spun around, almost losing his balance.  
“Yes?” the android froze without closing the passenger door.  
“When was the last time you did a backup?”  
Richard hesitated. The led turned yellow.  
“Six hours ago.”  
“Six?” Gavin asked in a melancholy voice. “Well. It's good.”  
“Anything else?”  
“No, nothing,” Reed shook his head.  
“Then good night, detective.”  
Richard nodded curtly and turned away to slam the car door.  
“Yeah,” Gavin said tardily, raising his hand with the gun. "Good night.”  
The sound of a shot echoed down the alley.


End file.
